


snakes on a plane. so to speak.

by fuzzballsheltiepants



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, In more ways than one, M/M, Masturbation, Neil Winky Face Josten Strikes Again, Sex Toys, Sexting, Smut & Humor, and a nun, coming home, featuring andrew on a plane, there are no snakes in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzzballsheltiepants/pseuds/fuzzballsheltiepants
Summary: Andrew is on his way home from a private workout with a pro team, facing down his second flight in three days.  He was not expecting Neil to start texting him...and is especially not expecting him to start texting him like THAT.  There's only one solution, really: get home as fast as possible.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 30
Kudos: 484





	snakes on a plane. so to speak.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justadreamfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/gifts).



> I don't really know what this is. It's been in my head for about a year now. I just wanted to write Andrew stuck on a plane with Neil being a menace, and I wanted to write a humorous/fluffy/realistic version of their first time having anal sex, and here we are.
> 
> This is a gift for justadreamfox. You can consider it a very belated birthday gift, Zan, or just a little present for being an amazing human!
> 
> As always, thank you so much to foxsoulcourt for the cheerleading, and tntwme for the beta; I would be lost without you two!

Andrew bit back a sigh as he settled into his seat. The window seat next to him was empty, and the plane was nearly full; he had waited until almost the last moment to board, trying to minimize the amount of time he had to spend packed into a flying tin can, elbow to elbow with strangers. At least the New York Rangers had flown him first class, which was more than Chicago or Houston had done.

He tugged his fidget rings out of his pocket. Neil’s fidget rings, actually, but they had ended up in Andrew’s jacket when Neil had dropped him off at the airport. It happened every time he flew now; he still wasn’t sure if Neil snuck them in while they were still at the dorm, or if he managed to reverse pickpocket him in the airport. All he knew for sure was that when he was on the other side of security, they were there.

The rings flipped through themselves, over and over, and something deep inside him exhaled. He could do this. He had survived the other flights.

“Excuse me, young man,” came a cheerful voice at his elbow. He looked up to see an older woman smiling down at him, her gray hair cut short and a small golden cross hanging around her neck. “May I?” She gestured at the empty window seat.

He glanced at it and stood without a word. She sidled in, settling her plain leather bag on her lap, and smiled up at him where he stood. Andrew blinked once then took his seat, just in time for the flight attendant to appear with his whiskey and coke.

“It’s a lovely day,” she said, raising the window shade. “Look at that sunshine, a little gift from God, just for us.”

Great. This was just what he needed. Someone who would cheerfully talk about the weather as the plane plummeted to the ground. He took a sip of his drink. It was mostly coke, because of course it was.

“Not much of a talker, hmm?” she said. “That’s just fine. I’ll mind my own business, never you mind.”

Andrew’s phone buzzed. ‘Minding her own business’ lady did not, in fact, mind her own business; he could see her glancing at his screen out of the corner of her eye while pretending to read her book.

[ _Chaos Theory_ ]

_Do you have wifi on the plane?_

_Yes_

_:D_

_What is that supposed to mean_

_;)_

_Neil_

_;)))))))))_

_NEIL_

He switched the phone into airplane mode, eyeing it warily before tucking it into the seat pocket.

“Snickers?”

A brown wrapper was waving in his face. Window Seat Woman was smiling beatifically at him, her bag open on her lap. “Or Milky Way? I think I have a Twix in here, if you want some crunch. Flights are always better with candy, don’t you think?”

He did think, though as the plane taxied along the runway he wasn’t sure his stomach would agree. He took the Snickers.

The flight attendant doing his spiel prevented him from needing to say anything. The woman seemed to be the only passenger paying attention. Andrew flipped the rings, watching the little colored bands stretch and trying not to think about how far off the ground they were about to be. It was pretty fucking far.

“First time flying?”

He huffed out a silent breath. “Tenth time in the past six weeks.”

Window Seat Woman’s eyes widened, but then she nodded briskly. “So an anxious flier then. Don’t blame you, I don’t really care for it much myself.” She had lowered her voice as if anyone gave a shit how she felt about it. “Even if I trust in God’s will, I don’t have to enjoy it.”

There was no possible answer to that. He gave what may have been a nod, may have been a shrug, and then grabbed his phone in relief when it lit up.

It was a selfie of Neil. Not a very good one; it looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the house in Columbia, and he had chopped off the top of his own head. He was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that Andrew recognized as his own, and though his eyes weren’t in the picture there was a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Odd.

Andrew tapped it, and had to stop himself from choking on his spit when he saw the tip of Neil’s dick peeking out from the black fabric.

_You forgot your pants_

_Did I? ;)_

“Got a girl waiting for you?” Window Seat Woman asked, nodding at his phone.

“Nope.”

She made a tsking sound. “Nice looking boy like you?”

Andrew raised a sardonic eyebrow at her, but it seemed to just bounce off. He was going to need to work on the force of his eyebrows, if it had dissipated enough that random cross-wearing women were unintimidated. Though, Renee had never been dissuaded either. Maybe there actually was some sort of strange power behind the symbol.

His phone screen stayed black, and after a while he pulled out a book, some mindless stupid thing he had snagged in the airport for way more than it was worth. Even the dancing chicken didn’t really work as a distraction, but it was better than staring at the back of the seat in front of him.

An hour in, the phone lit up again, and he almost dropped his book on the floor in his haste to grab it. The photo was almost abstract, all flesh color but strangely irregular, and he stared at it for a moment before realizing it was legs with rivulets of water running down them. He shifted in his seat.

_You’re going to ruin your phone_

_Nah_

_I dried my hand first_

_How are you typing in the shower_

_Magic_

And then a second photo came, this one in focus: a familiar scarred chest and abdomen, droplets of water clinging to the skin. There was a glimpse of coarse brown hair, the hint of what lay below that, and for all of Neil’s poor selfie-taking abilities it still managed to make Andrew swallow audibly.

He shifted in his seat again. What the fuck was Neil doing? They didn’t do this; they didn’t even send normal selfies, let alone whatever the hell this was supposed to be. _Sexting_ , whispered a voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like Nicky. He snorted, earning a smile from Window Seat Woman. It was just—ridiculous. It was—

The phone vibrated in his hand, and he fumbled it, catching it before it hit the tray.

_Which one do I use_

A photo came through: a lineup on the bathroom counter. Condoms. Lube. That lube injector contraption that Neil had ordered after reading an article online but neither of them had ever actually tried.

_Training wheels?_

In the next photo, Neil was holding up the small black dildo Andrew had ordered when they first started trying this, after he realized the Drarry fanfiction had lied to him and fitting three fingers up an ass meant instant hand cramp and was fun for no one.

_Almost the real thing?_

This photo was of one Neil had brought home, pink-cheeked, that was roughly the size of Andrew’s dick and bright fucking orange. Andrew hated that thing, except when it was buried deep in Neil and Neil was falling apart and Andrew could almost imagine that it was his own cock instead.

And then something Andrew did not know they possessed, something long and tapered and flared at the base and dark purple. Something that looked suspiciously like a butt plug.

_Or what the fuck was I thinking?_

If Andrew had ever believed in any sort of deity he would have been praying to said deity in that moment for some sort of release from this torture. Instead he sat in his seat and burned.

_Impatient much?_

_I will be landing in an hour_

_I know_

_I want to be ready_

Andrew closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose, letting it out through his mouth slowly.

_Start small_

A few minutes passed with nothing. Andrew’s pants were uncomfortably tight, and he was considering heading to the bathroom when the woman next to him spoke again.

“You know, one of the sisters gets anxious flying too. She came with me when we went to Honduras. Helping build homes, you see.” She smiled at Andrew’s bemused expression; he had practically forgotten they were in the air. “Even though we trust in God’s beneficence, fear still creeps through.”

_This is more fun when you’re here_

The picture that followed was an awkward angle, and yet obscene in the best possible way. Neil’s cock rested on his belly, one hand loosely wrapped around it, familiar black silicone peeking out below his balls. Andrew hunched down in his seat. He didn’t really care about scandalizing the Window Seat Woman, even less since he was increasingly certain she was a nun. But he would prefer not to be outed before they were ready, either.

_You could’ve waited_

_You told me what you want the other morning_

_Figured I might as well be ready_

Andrew dug his nails into his palm, not that it did much good. He could picture it in his head, he would be able to picture it until the day he died.

> _“I want to fuck you,” Andrew had said. Neil’s eyes widened, his hand frozen, hovering the spatula above the pan._
> 
> _“Now?” he asked, flipping a pancake with a flick of his wrist._
> 
> _But Andrew’s flight to New York would leave in a couple of hours, and he didn’t want to rush this, not this, not for the first time. He settled for going to his knees, making Neil come undone while the pancakes sizzled in the pan, eating the burnt ones with his fingers on his way out the door._

He wanted that now, the weight of Neil’s cock on his tongue, the choked-off moans echoing in his ears. He wanted to feel the rough-smooth textures of his scars, to taste the salt of his skin, hear the hitches of breath, his own name tumbling from Neil’s lips. He wanted to sink into him, to be that close, to memorize the heat of his body. He wanted—

He wanted.

It wasn’t a wholly unfamiliar feeling, not anymore. It was a bruise he had sustained long ago, one that had taken years to fade from deep purple and black to green, then to a softening yellow. He poked at it, waiting for it to hurt with that old familiar ache. But it didn’t. It wasn’t numb, it wasn’t painful, it just was.

Another photo, of Neil’s scarred abdomen streaked with cum.

_Oops_

He flipped the phone so it was resting face down on his tray and leaned back in the leather seat, closing his eyes. It didn’t help. He could still imagine it, flashing across his eyelids like a movie playing on a screen. Neil easing the dildo into himself, drawing a shaking breath, letting his head fall back against the pillow. It struck Andrew that he didn’t know if this was something Neil did sometimes, when the dorm room was empty, or when everyone was asleep. Did he tease himself? Did he take it slow? Did he know, the way Andrew did, exactly how to slide the dildo to make himself shake apart?

Andrew gritted his teeth, shifting in his seat, trying to ease some of the pressure from his jeans. That may have been a mistake; his dick did not object to the increase in friction, and he took a deep breath. He was not going to come in his pants. He wasn’t.

He glanced at the bathroom; the occupied light was on, but there wasn’t any line. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he rearranged himself surreptitiously and put his tray up. Just as he stood, the captain announced through the speakers that they were beginning their descent. He glanced up at the front of the plane, tapping his fingers against his thigh before opting to make a run for it. It wasn’t like it would take him long the way he was; three strokes and a glance at the photos and he’d be done.

“I’m sorry, sir.” One of the flight attendants materialized out of nowhere with a plastic smile. “I’m going to have to ask you to return to your seat. We’ll be landing shortly.”

Andrew stared up at him, but the smile didn’t twitch. The probably-a-nun gave him a sympathetic look as he settled back in his seat. “Hate when that happens,” she said.

Andrew couldn’t help his snort. “I bet.”

He tugged the offer from New York out of his backpack and tried to study it as outside the window the world got larger and closer. But it was just meaningless black lines on a white page. The hormone-fueled part of his brain—currently approximately ninety percent of it—imagined Neil bending over a table reading it, while Andrew fucked into him. Would it still be legally binding if it had cum stains on it?

Approximately seventeen and a half hours later, the plane was on the ground. He dragged his backpack out from under the seat, stuffed the offer into it, and checked his phone.

_Just landed_

_I’m by the baggage claim_

“I hope you have a very pleasant evening,” said the potential nun as he shuffled out into the aisle. There was slightly too much emphasis on the ‘very.’ He glanced at her sharply, and she gave him an innocent smile, a little twinkle of humor in her eyes. No. There was no way she knew.

“You too,” he muttered, and headed for the exit.

It was absolutely, profoundly unfair that Neil could just stand there, looking like _that_ , like he hadn’t just tortured Andrew for an hour, like he didn’t have an ass full of lube and a phone full of dirty pictures, like he didn’t know Andrew was going to spontaneously combust if he couldn’t kiss him right fucking now. He smiled, and Andrew wanted to punch him in the face he was so impossibly beautiful.

“I fucking hate you,” Andrew said, even as he felt a little tug at the corner of his lips.

Neil’s smile widened as he turned towards the exit. “Do you?”

“I was sitting next to a nun, you asshole.”

Neil laughed as they walked out into the cold bright sunshine. “Did you give her an education?”

“No. She gave me a Snickers.”

“I see. So, if it weren’t for the candy you would’ve shown her my dick.”

Andrew bumped Neil’s shoulder with his own, trying to send him stumbling, but Neil’s core strength was no joke and he just shoved back. They continued on this way to the parking lot, pushing against each other until Neil was laughing and Andrew had an ache carved into his chest in the shape of an impossible word.

It was a thirty minute drive home. Andrew squinted into the fading sun and listened to the music of the engine as it shifted gears, its quiet roar echoing in his bloodstream. Twenty seven minutes. Twenty three. Eighteen. Twelve.

“Do you want to talk about your visit?” Neil asked, his voice husky and soft.

_I want your cock down my throat,_ Andrew thought. “No.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

Andrew hummed, pretending to think it over. “How about, when did you get the butt plug?”

He glanced at Neil, who was suddenly glowing like the sunset. “I ordered it last week. It came today.”

“It wasn’t the only one.”

Neil laughed, and Andrew let himself wade into the warmth of the sound. And then they were pulling into the driveway, getting out of the car, stumbling together into the entryway. Neil had barely gotten the door shut before Andrew shoved him against it, and fuck, it felt so good to twist his fingers in the softness of his hoodie, to feel the muscle of that deceptively lean frame, to push against him and taste the sweetness of his mouth.

Andrew might have just stayed there, rutting up against Neil until they both came, if it wasn’t for the little satisfied noise Neil made when he tangled his fingers in Andrew’s hair. That noise—it was too much, too perfect; it was Andrew’s undoing. A wave of heat crashed over him that might’ve been desire, might’ve been hatred, might have been something else, something he didn’t have the word for but that was forever too close to the other two to be distinguished.

He pulled back, and Neil’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Andrew, just looked, with his glacial-pool eyes softer than they had any right to be. It was an offering.

Andrew took it. Using his hold on Neil’s sweatshirt he took a step back. Neil yielded easily, kicking Andrew’s bag out of the way to follow him to the stairs. Up in the tiny hallway they ended up practically tripping over each other as they tried to kiss, get through the door, and shed clothes all at the same time. It was stupid, but Andrew wasn’t sure he could manage to tear himself away long enough to get properly undressed. That was, until he almost strangled himself trying to tug his shirt off and Neil started to laugh against his lips.

Grumbling, Andrew shoved Neil onto the bed and ripped his shirt over his head, flinging it over in the corner. His shoes joined it, two separate thuds that for some reason made his cock twitch. He didn’t bother to examine that, if it was a weird Pavlovian response; it didn’t matter, not when Neil was grinning up at him fully dressed, even his stupid shoes still hovering above the quilt.

He was so fucking beautiful, it wasn’t fair.

Andrew reached up and grabbed him by the hips, yanking him to the edge of the bed, drinking in Neil’s sharp exhale. Neil’s legs wrapped around his waist on reflex, and Andrew ran his hands up those ridiculous thighs, feeling the long cords of muscle beneath the denim.

He gave himself a minute, thumbs tracing the seams of Neil’s jeans of their own accord. Ten breaths. Ten breaths to clear his head. On seven, his hands slid up under Neil’s shirt, the heat of him heady and grounding all at once. Eight, he leaned forward to meet Neil pushing upwards, crashing their mouths together in something that should’ve been harsh but somehow wasn’t. Nine, his fingers found the button on Neil’s jeans. Ten, he leaned back, tugging the jeans with him only to get caught on the shoes Nicky had bought Neil for Christmas.

Neil laughed again, and Andrew wondered what it meant, if it was as right as it felt, if laughter was supposed to mix with this kind of closeness, if it was a sign of brokenness or a sign of healing. But a breath later and he didn’t care. It was a sign of Neil and that was all that mattered.

Andrew started to untie the laces, but Neil made an impatient noise and kicked the shoes off, and then his pants, and then sat up to strip off his shirt before flopping back down, breathless.

“You’re an athlete,” Andrew said, his hand resting on Neil’s chest, feeling the rabbit-quick beat of his heart.

“Clothes are hard,” Neil said. “Here, let me help you with yours.”

Andrew dropped his hands to his side and watched as Neil’s deft fingers undid his pants. He was already hard, had been since that first kiss downstairs, and Neil glanced up at him in question before easing his underwear over his dick. “See?” Neil asked, blinking up at him with innocent eyes. “Har—”

Andrew pushed him down, chasing after his mouth, swallowing the bright sounds that came out. He could feel Neil pressing against him, the familiar length of him, and he slipped a hand between them. “What do you want?” he asked, stroking lightly over Neil’s half-hard cock.

“You,” Neil said. “Whatever you want to give me.”

There were options. Things they had done before, things that were safe; he knew a dozen different ways he could make Neil shake apart. But that wasn’t what he wanted, not today.

The dildos were still sitting on the bedside table, condoms and lube beside them. He grabbed the smaller one and slipped a condom on it, adding a generous dollop of lube. Neil watched him, bending his knees automatically. “You know,” he started, then gasped out a curse when Andrew swallowed him down, easing the dildo into him a moment later.

“Okay, fuck,” Neil said, his fingers tightening in Andrew’s hair. “This—I don’t—”

Andrew pulled off. “Do you have something to share with the class?”

“You have no idea what—” He cursed again, and Andrew hummed around his dick, fucking him with the dildo at the same time for a few seconds before sitting up, pulling the dildo out in one slow smooth motion.

“Drew. Andrew.” Neil licked his lips, bitten red and raw; his pupils were huge, swallowing the crystal blue irises. “If you want to fuck me, it’s a yes.”

Andrew pushed at the old scar of desire, and it yielded easily, no hint of pain. He studied Neil for a long moment and there was no lie in his eyes.

He was steady when he tore open the condom packet. If his whole body quivered when he ran a lube-slick palm over his cock, Neil didn’t comment. Before Andrew could put the condom on Neil plucked it from his fingers. “Can I?”

Andrew hummed assent, then held his breath when he felt Neil’s hands, gentle but firm as they rolled the condom on. Neil lay back down, ostentatious as a cat as he arranged himself, tucking a pillow under his pelvis, then folding his hands over his abdomen and looking at Andrew expectantly.

“What the fuck?” Andrew asked, waving a lube-covered hand in Neil’s direction.

“I thought that was the point,” Neil said, what can only be called a smirk playing across his lips.

He knew what came next. He knew how this worked, what he was supposed to do. He’d watched enough porn, fantasized enough about being in this very position, kneeling between Neil’s open thighs, hard and ready. But though he could play this out in his mind like a movie reel, that didn’t stop his muscles from locking up.

Seconds might have passed; perhaps it was minutes, even, before he could drag his eyes up to Neil’s. But there wasn’t any judgment there, no impatience, no concern or sorrow or pity. It was something else entirely, something like the wanting he felt in his own chest. His breath caught at the beauty of it.

Neil raised one hand to Andrew’s face; he turned into it, kissing the pads of his fingers, then closing his eyes as those fingers trailed down his throat to his chest. “You’re perfect,” Neil murmured.

Andrew blinked and tried to fix a glare onto his face; it didn’t seem to work, judging by the way Neil smirked, or the reverence in his voice when he added, “So fucking perfect.”

“You’re a menace.” It was true, or a fragment of the truth. He was a menace, and he was perfect, and he was flawed, and he was everything, absolutely everything.

Neil hummed, stretching up to seek his mouth, and Andrew closed the distance blindly. He didn’t need to see to find his target, not when every atom of his body knew every atom of Neil’s. The familiar taste settled him, stoked the embers of his arousal. Neil fumbled between them, taking Andrew’s lube-slicked cock in hand and stroking him back to full hardness.

Andrew could feel his heart pounding into his toes as he positioned himself between Neil’s knees again. It wasn’t actually like porn, or like his fantasies. He smeared lube on the sheets as he leaned forward, and he had to look to figure out exactly where he was going, and the first time he pressed forward he undershot and slipped between Neil’s ass cheeks, and Neil blinked and grinned and swallowed a laugh.

But then—

Neil was exhaling, and Andrew was trying to inhale, but his brain seemed to have short-circuited and all he could think was _hot_ and _close_ and _too much_ and _not enough_. His body sought to surge forward, and the one functioning neuron he had left made him still. Pleasure was sparking in his groin, flickering along his spine, and when he finally was able to breathe he was pretty certain if he moved a millimeter he would come so hard he would collapse in on himself in some sort of physics-defying anomaly.

“It’s okay,” Neil said quietly, again and again. “You can move.”

“Not if you want this to last more than two seconds,” Andrew gritted out.

“Ah.” There was humor dancing behind the single syllable, and Andrew kind of wanted to strangle him. He settled for giving a tiny, experimental thrust, and Neil’s mouth fell open and Andrew didn’t implode into the world’s smallest black hole, so he tried it again. And again. Somehow it felt like his impending orgasm got bigger and farther away at the same time, and he was able to register more about Neil. The flush creeping down his chest and up his neck; the way his teeth set in his lip; his hand wrapped around his own cock, not jerking himself off, just holding.

Andrew shifted so his weight was on one arm and reached up to touch Neil’s face. Neil leaned into it, and moved his hips just as Andrew thrust in again, and something must have gone right because Neil jolted like he had been hit with a cattle prod. “Fuck, do that again.”

It took a few more tries before he hit the same spot but then he had it memorized. Neil was shaking apart underneath him, his fingers digging into Andrew’s shoulder almost painfully, his eyes closed and head thrown back into the pillow. Andrew wanted to kiss him, to taste the barely-there moans, to run his hands over sweat-slick skin—

And then pleasure hit him like an ocean wave, dragging him under, his vision going splotchy along the edges. His hips spasmed, pushing him deeper into Neil, and someone gave an obscene moan and he wasn’t sure which one of them it was and he couldn’t bring himself to care. He knew he was panting into Neil’s skin, and dimly he registered fingers scrabbling at his shoulder, and he started to pull away because surely it wasn’t supposed to be like this, it wasn’t supposed to be about _him_.

“Stay,” Neil gasped, and Andrew froze. “Just—I’m so close.”

Andrew blinked through the haze in his brain, trying to come to terms with the fact that he still had hands, and voluntary control over said hands. After what felt like an eternity but was probably just an unreasonably long time, he managed to get his fingers wrapped around Neil’s cock and his lips onto his neck. He worked him over on pure muscle memory, and it wasn’t long before Neil’s body spasmed around him, painfully tight on his oversensitive dick. His hand faltered for a second, until Neil jerked into his fist, and Andrew resumed his motion, stroking him through until he was a spent, quivering mess.

Andrew’s arm gave out then, and they lay tangled there for a while, remembering how to breathe. Eventually Andrew recovered enough to pull out. They both made a face at the sensation, and then abruptly it was—too much.

He made it to his feet, stripping off the condom and throwing it in the trash. Every inch of his skin was too aware: of the lube, of the cum, of the sweat; of every point of contact he had had with Neil’s body. Somehow he made it into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He shivered in the early spring chill that permeated even South Carolina, and he stuck a hand into the water stream to feel the instant it got warm enough.

“Hey.” Neil leaned against the door jamb, damp and messy and flushed and fucking glorious. “Can I?”

The water was warm enough. Andrew tore his eyes away and ducked under the stream. “Can you?” He kept his voice flat, a challenge, when what he wanted to do was drag Neil in there with him and kiss him senseless.

Neil’s mouth quirked up at one corner, and he followed Andrew into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him. The hot water beat against Andrew’s back, and he laced his fingers through Neil’s to tug him closer. Neil leaned in, sliding his nose along Andrew’s teasingly for a moment before sinking into a kiss.

Andrew let himself sink too. It was slow, and warm, and deep; there was a time when it would have felt like drowning. But this, this felt like floating.

They dried off and dressed in silence. Andrew dug out his softest hoodie, the one Nicky had given him for Christmas senior year of high school that had a picture of a potted cactus with “Hug Me” written on the pot. He ended up on the couch, feet tucked under the pillows along the back while Neil clattered around in the kitchen and some idiotic movie mumbled to itself on the TV.

It felt like any other night in Columbia with just the two of them.

And that was—odd.

Bee had talked to him about this before, a few times. About wanting, about expectations, about real and not real. About physicality and social constructs, about what mattered and what didn’t. He shook his head at himself. He had thought he was above it all, too jaded and scarred to buy into the bullshit about the importance of sex, to see it as anything other than a means to an end.

He had expected it to trigger him, but that’s not what this was. He didn’t know what this was.

This was laughing under the sheets. This was slipping, and fumbling, and doing it wrong, and it being kind of perfect anyway. This was real, and that was the strangest bit of all.

They ate boxed spaghetti and bottled sauce and those meatballs Neil liked, sitting on the couch while a different stupid movie played. Neil laughed at the puns. Andrew watched him more than the movie, marveling a little at the impossibile simplicity of it all.

Neil had changed the sheets to the flannel ones Andrew preferred. They smelled like dryer sheets, and he ran the soft fabric between his fingers while Neil changed into his sleep shirt and boxers, because changing into sleep clothes was something he did now. Neil hesitated before getting into bed, and Andrew flipped the covers back, snaking his arm around Neil’s waist as soon as he settled in place.

The house was quiet in a way the dorms never were. It almost seemed alive, with the tiny shifts of structures deep within that Andrew didn’t know the names of, the furnace rumbling, the trees outside creaking in the wind. They had forgotten to shut off the porch light; the warmth of it bled in along the edges of the blinds.

He closed his eyes, but he was nowhere near sleep. The contract from New York was still in his backpack, but he could feel it, heavy and cloying. It would join the others in Wymack’s office tomorrow, when they went back to Palmetto to finish out the championships. At some point, Andrew would have to choose. At some point, he would have to leave.

Neil shifted in his arms, and he blinked to find Neil watching him, his eyes luminous in the half-light. “I missed you,” Neil whispered.

Andrew’s arm tightened against his will, and he forced himself to relax, to take a breath. “I was gone two days.”

“Two and a half,” Neil said, mouth quirking up. They lay there, breathing in each other’s air, soaking up each other’s warmth.

“What am I going to do?”

It was the question echoing in Andrew’s own head, but it sounded different in Neil’s voice. Bigger. Less hopeless.

Andrew swallowed against the dryness in his throat. “We’ll do what we have to.”

“Yeah.” Neil wriggled his way closer, and Andrew wrapped a leg around him too. “I just, I don’t know. I don’t want this to change.”

Andrew hummed, pressing his face into Neil’s shoulder. His immediate response was, _it won’t,_ but that was a lie. It would. It had. It was so unavoidable that it was a cliché; Bee had it embroidered on a fucking pillow in her office, for fuck’s sake. _‘Change is inevitable. Growth is optional.’_

He wished he was good with words. Not the meaningless comfort of Nicky or Abby, but really good with them. But that was Neil’s purview, not his.

So he kissed him with everything he couldn’t say. He kissed him with, _it will,_ and with, _and that’s okay_. He kissed him with, _we chose this_ , and with, _I still choose this_ , and with, _we can keep choosing this_. He kissed him the thoughts of how far they had come, and how long the road still stretched ahead. And Neil kissed him back.

“I guess we’ll make it work,” Neil murmured some time later. Andrew nodded into his pillow. The travel was starting to weigh on him, the two nights in an unfamiliar bed, the new people, the tryout, the expectations. “I’ll just have to come up with some more distractions for your flights.”

Andrew made a small noise of agreement and let his eyes drift closed. He was almost asleep when Neil’s words hit him, and he jolted awake with two disparate thoughts surging to the forefront of his brain.

He was so, so fucked.

And the concept of flying just got a lot more interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed that! Here is my psa that sex with the right person is often silly, often doesn't go how you'd expect, and isn't for everyone. Plenty of healthy couples never have penetrative sex and that's perfectly normal. But, I feel like it would be reasonable for Andrew to want to reclaim that, and here we are. You can hmu [on Tumblr](https://fuzzballsheltiepants.tumblr.com) if you want!


End file.
